These Hands
by drapetomaniac
Summary: "Do you honestly think that these," Grif lightly trailed his fingertips down the maroon soldier's arm as he brought his lips closer to his ear, "these are the hands belonging to a murderer?" Simmons inhaled a sharp breath.


Pairing: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons  
Length: One-shot

A/N: This was written 3 months ago, I just never posted it. Not really my best work. I apologise if Lopez's dialogue isn't accurate. I unfortunately don't speak Spanish and Google Translate isn't exactly the best thing.

Summary: "Do you honestly think that these," Grif lightly trailed his fingertips down the maroon soldier's arm as he brought his lips closer to his ear, "_these_ are the hands belonging to a murderer?" Simmons inhaled a sharp breath.

* * *

_BANG_!

A loud explosion was heard outside the red base.

"What in Sam Hell was that?" Sarge exclaimed. He made his way towards the sound with Simmons not too far behind. A puff of smoke disappeared above the incident and familiar-looking bronze bits of armour were scattered around the crater in the Earth. "Lopez!"

"**No de nuevo!**" Just Lopez's head lay on the ground.

"Who did this to you?" Sarge demanded as he crouched by the head.

"**Lo hiciste. Usted puto morón**."

"Lopez, you have to tell us who did this to ya so we can take revenge for a fellow soldier!"

"**Usted plantado una mina en la entrada, estúpido idiota**."

"I'll collect the leftover body parts, sir."

.:':. .:':. .:':.

Simmons made his way back to base and stripped off his armour. It was getting late, according to the time (and not to the sun that never rested) and he decided to get some shut eye. He pondered over the explosion that happened earlier that morning. It shouldn't have been such a big deal. Lopez could easily be put back together, but he couldn't help think why someone would blow him up in the first place.

Who would do such a thing? Well, first of all it couldn't be Sarge. As much as he hated to think it, Lopez was pretty much Sarge's favourite seeing as he spends such a great amount of time with the robot-soldier. _Ouch, yeah that hurt_. There was a very low possibility that it could've been Donut. The pink soldier walked around with a peace-sign plastered above his head; violence was not something he'd take action upon. Of anything, he was the worst soldier during war because he refused to hurt anyone. He hadn't seen Doc around, but it was unlikely for him to even hold a gun. He was a medic, for goodness sake! Something about not bringing harm upon others was a top priority in his books.

That left Grif, from the red team, at least. He didn't imagine a blue coming anywhere near the base without getting caught but Sarge. But why on earth would Grif have any reason to destroy Lopez? Lopez was the soldier who pretty much did all the work around here. That included most of Grif's old jobs. I ended up taking care of all his new jobs that he barely attends to. Jackass.

However, this could have been his revenge to Sarge. After all, he isn't a big fan of our Sargent and presents no respect at all to our leader. Simmons couldn't stop thinking. It does seem like a lot of effort for Grif though...

As if on cue, Grif walked in, already bare from his armour. He brushed past Simmons without a second thought and headed straight for the refrigerator.

"Grif," Simmons spoke up. He knew it was highly unlikely, but he had to get it out of his mind or otherwise he feared he wouldn't rest tonight. "You weren't behind that explosion this morning, did you? The one that killed Lopez."

Grif turned away from the opened cooler and raised an eyebrow at the question. "Killed?" He asked and Simmons nodded. "That mother fucker wasn't even alive to begin with."

Simmons rolled his eyes. "So that's a no, right?" He turned his back to the idiot and thought about it a little more. Grif wouldn't bother to put in any effort to such a thing though, anyway.

During mid-thought, he felt a figure press against his back. Grif stood behind him with his chin resting on his shoulder. "Seriously, Simmons? Do you really think these hands would bother to do such a thing as _murder_? Do you honestly think that these," Grif lightly trailed his fingertips down the maroon soldier's arm as he brought his lips closer to his ear, "_these_ are the hands belonging to a murderer?" Simmons inhaled a sharp breath.

"Grif..." Simmons tried to sound warningly, but his voice trembled beneath his touch.

"I'm sure these hands would do no harm. At least, not in a bad way." His other hand trailed down the front of Simmons stomach, ghosting over his chest and over his light abs. Simmons couldn't help but shiver under his touch. "Do you think _I'd_ go that far to do such a thing, Simmons?" The way Grif said his name was making his stomach churn. It didn't help when Grif decided to lick his earlobe.

"Grif... What are you doing?" Simmons didn't know whether he liked where Grif was going with this. His hand caressed his skin and continued to travel down. He felt a rush of hot breath near his ear and then by his neck.

Grif's fingers played with the hem of Simmons pants and then his boxers. "Do you wanna know what these hands are capable of, Simmons?" He said his name so lowly, and so sexily.

_What-_ Simmons didn't have time to finish his thought as Grif's left hand found themselves around Simmons member. Grif's right hand massaged the back of Simmons shoulder and then rubbed down his arm. He intertwined his right hand with Simmons so that his palm pressed against the back of his hand.

"Ah! Grif!" Simmons whimpered. He hadn't realised how hard he had gotten. Grif's hand rubbed slowly against his cock. He stroked it slowly and it began to feel tight in his boxers. His thumb kneaded over the tip and Simmons responded with a shiver. His left hand grasped onto his arm and his knees shook.

Grif planted soft kiss against the back of his neck and trailed along his back and shoulder. He pumped his hand along his shaft and began to increase the speed.

Simmons was moaning Grif's name now. His fingers pressed against Grif's. Grif's skilled hand was doing wonders and Simmons was trembling beneath his skin. He was by far convinced that these hands could do much more than murder. "Ah, fuck..." He muttered under his breath.

"What do you think of my hands, Simmons?" He whispered against his neck. Simmons replied with an undignified cry. His abdomen was tightening and he was beginning to find it difficult to think straight.

The pressure built up and exploded as cum poured out into Grif's hand. Simmons cried out and felt he was wobbling and struggling to stand straight. Grif released his free hand and used it to wrap around Simmons' waist so he wouldn't shrivel and melt to the ground. He pulled his hand out his boxers and wiped them on the front of Simmons' shirt. After Simmons took a while to collect his breath, Grif released him from his arms and grinned.

"Seriously dude, I don't know what you were thinking," Grif shook his head as he walked out the room, leaving a star-struck Simmons behind.


End file.
